


Knock me out (again)

by Perching_Owl



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drugged Drink, Hurt/Comfort, Iron bull to the rescue, Kidnapping, M/M, Rescue, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:54:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27148336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Perching_Owl/pseuds/Perching_Owl
Summary: Cullen steps away from the ladies. His heart is beating faster, his nausea is intensifying, his head by now throbbing. The light starts to blur, shapes becoming more and more difficult to distinguish. Shivers are running through him, yet he is feeling so warm, almost hot.He stumbles as he makes his way towards the gardens, hand on the wall, hoping Bull is there. Or anyone of the Inquisition. Something is wrong though, very wrong. A normal episode doesn't feel like this. He needs Bull. Or Dorian. Or the Inquisitor.Realization begins to dawn on him, his gaze wandering down towards his cup. He frowns. Is there- could there have been something in there?
Relationships: The Iron Bull/Cullen Rutherford
Comments: 14
Kudos: 60
Collections: Perching_Owl's Whumptober 2020 Collection





	Knock me out (again)

**Author's Note:**

> Twenty-second fill for the [whumptober 2020](https://whumptober2020.tumblr.com/)! Whew, and it's a new pairing, coupled with I think a new fandom? 
> 
> No 22. DO THESE TACOS TASTE FUNNY TO YOU?: Poisoned | **Drugged** | Withdrawal
> 
> Here is the [ Link](https://whumptober2020.tumblr.com/post/628055505485561856/whumptober-2020-updated) for the upcoming prompts.
> 
> Title is taken from 'Lips like morphine' by Kill Hannah.

His head is dully throbbing already as Cullen takes a sip from the cup in his hand. It's spreading from a point at his temple, over the back of his head and down his neck. He rubs over his neck and rolls it from side to side in the quiet behind one of the columns, away from views.

A level below people are whirling around, their movements as intricate as if they were in a battle of their own and the winter palace dancefloor is their battlefield. Around the dancefloor - and on it, if he is honest - politics are happening, the walls lined with people in expensive gowns talking about policies and laws, intermingled with small talk. Laughter is ringing out on occasion, most of it false, the rest real, and the music is playing just loud enough to drown out the words spoken. It's ingenious as it allows people to talk in private while in plain view.

Cullen knows he cannot stay where he is for long, but for the moment it's safe behind the column, a quiet reprieve from the nobles. As usual, some of them have been very insistent, talking and invading his space. By now he should be used to it as it's always happening with these balls. He doesn't know how Dorian and the Inquisitor manage, but both of them grew up in this environment. On top of that, they are a couple, so no one is making advances on either of them. Then again- with the Orlesians-

'There you are,' Bull's voice rumbles behind him.

Cullen startles, almost dropping his glass. A hand rests heavily on top of his shoulder, the comfort it brings sorely needed. A thumb brushes over the exposed skin above his collar, warm and calloused. Some tension seeps from him, and he leans into it, a soft sigh escaping him.

'You are tense,' Bull murmurs, 'Everything alright?'

'A headache - nothing worth worrying about,' Cullen mutters, his eyes slipping close as Bull's thumb draws circles on his skin.

'Oh,' Bull moves behind him then, a solid presence against his back. His other hand moves up, rubbing along Cullen's neck, then up to his temples, messaging them.

It helps ease the headache, much more than Cullen has expected. Of course, it could also be Bull's calming presence in the middle of this madness that masquerades as a ball. He luxuriates for a few breaths, enjoying the touch, and then pulls himself together. Tilting his head up, he says with a smile, his skull still throbbing, but much more bearable, 'Thank you - but I need to mingle a while longer.'

'Tell me if you want someone killed,' Bull says, a broad grin on his face. 'Just give me a shout. I'll be in the garden.'

Cullen shakes his head, smile turning into a grin, 'I fear killing is not possible as we might need them for the inquisition.' He straightens before he makes his way out from behind the column. As soon as he steps out, people begin flocking towards him. A false smile creeps on his face, and he bows politely as soon as they approach, ready to lure him into promising favours or if not those then at least a conversation.

His headache is intensifying the longer he spends with these nobles. What's even worse is his fingers are beginning to grow numb. He can already feel an episode coming up. It's bad, the lighting of the room too bright, the music too loud, and there is a growing sense of nausea in his stomach.

'He is an absolute delight, nothing compared to you though,' one of the noble ladies' shrill voices rings out, a hand gesturing, almost knocking a glass out of someone's hand. Cullen knows he should pay more attention to this woman. She is pretty, if loud, and he isn't quite sure who she is, but she has to be related to someone important, judging by how the other noble ladies around him deferred to her.

Cullen takes another gulp from his wine. His hands have begun to grow numb, which is something he rarely experiences. Usually, they only grow cold. It's a strange feeling. He hopes he can make it to the end of the evening.

'- so it wasn't his fault, you know?' the woman laughs. She makes a pause, leaving room for Cullen to answer or interject, but he has no idea what she is talking about. He only nods, regretting it at once as his headache intensifies.

Pressing his lips together, he realizes he cannot carry on like this, he needs to be somewhere dark and quiet, hoping the episode isn't as bad. Along with pain, the wish for the Lyrium intensifies. As always and insistent in the back of his mind. It's always the same whispers, the promise of cool relief. Usually, he cannot ignore them as easily, but he is in public space and he needs to pull himself together. Even if Cullen longs to lie down in his bed, stare at the night sky until he falls asleep. It would be even better if Bull were to join him. But right now, he is so far away from Skyhold, he cannot risk not functioning. Finally, he manages to press out, 'If you excuse me.'

He steps away from the ladies. His heart is beating faster, his nausea is intensifying, his head by now throbbing. The light starts to blur, shapes becoming more and more difficult to distinguish. Shivers are running through him, yet he is feeling so warm, almost hot.

Cullen stumbles as he makes his way towards the gardens, hand on the wall, hoping Bull is there. Or anyone of the Inquisition. Something is wrong though, very wrong. A normal episode doesn't feel like this. He needs Bull. Or Dorian. Or the Inquisitor.

Realization begins to dawn on him, his gaze wandering down towards his cup. He frowns. Is there- could there have been something in there? He needs Bull. Bull is going to know if someone has slipped him something.

His heart is hammering quicker now. What if this is poison? What else could it be? Another shiver runs through him, so strongly, he drops the cup. It shatters on the floor. No one pays him any mind, most thinking another person, who has drunk one too many.

His vision is blurring, light and darkness mingling. He leans against the wall, his head spinning. One step after the other towards the garden. Just a little further. His legs give out as if his strings have been cut, and he slides down the wall onto the floor.

The last impression he has is someone stepping close to him, cushioning his fall. Slender, cold hands settle against his neck, against his pulse. Fear grips his heart tight, but darkness envelopes him first.

* * *

Cullen wakes up because his head is being split into two. Someone has taken a hammer to it, throbs pulsating through his skull and it hurts. This bad of an episode he has rarely had, and he longs for the oblivion Lyrium brings. Please, a voice inside of him asks, please, we need it.

Cullen realises he is moving. It has to be a cart, the movements clattering over a cobbled road and he can hear both horses and wheels. There is a rhythmic motion to it, but there are planks under him, rough wood. It's not right, it doesn't add up. Why would he be here? What is here?

He opens his eyes. The world is too bright, the sun out, visible through the awning, and it's hot. Why- why would he be travelling in the back of a cart? He tries to rub over his eyes, but he doesn't manage as his hands don't move. Well, it's not quite correct. His hands move, but they are restrained from moving further by - is he shackled?

His head is feeling like it is split in two. He cannot focus. Damnit, he is so tired.

Blissful darkness envelopes him again like an old friend.

* * *

When he next wakes up, it's because of the noise.

Cullen knows how fighting sounds. This sounds like a proper fight, professional commands bellowed, clashing of weapons, screams and laughter. His head is still hurting, the pain lacing through the right side of his face, racing up and down, almost reaching his spine. He is nauseous but at least the cart is standing still. Probably because they are involved in a fight, his mind provides, slow to react with thoughts like molasses.

A groan falls from his lips. He moves, trying to get out of the shackles around his wrists. It's of no use, but he tries anyway, pain running through his wrists as the metal scrapes skin from them. From outside the sounds of fighting begin to subside.

Suddenly there is a shadow at the cart. He is prepared to fight, even if he cannot tell the difference between friend or foe. The light is too bright, especially when someone pulls back the awning. 'I found him,' a voice calls out, a soldier in heavy armour, judging by the shoulders.

Cullen frowns, he knows this silhouette, and a name falls from his lips, voice rough, 'Krem?'

'He's alive!' Krem calls out. Cullen cringes, the noise too loud. A groan escapes him.

Moments later heavy footsteps reach the cart. A voice growling, 'Get out of the way, Krem. Let me-'

Bull pushes past Krem and climbs into the cart. It makes a worrying noise of protest.

'Cullen,' Bull is worried, his brows furrowed. Blood is dripping from one of his horns. A gash above his eye patch is bleeding still.

'Bull.'

'Are you alright?' Bull asks. His hands reach out, checking over Cullen's face, then moving down.

'I've been shackled,' Cullen leans forward, trying to give Bull access to his hands.

Bull's hands move down towards where his own have been bound. They rip the chain between the shackles apart, and Bull mutters, 'I'll need to find the key for the shackles themselves.'

'Later,' Cullen mutters, his head is hurting, and his shoulders are aching as he brings them to his front. Instead, he blinks, then tilts his head, 'How did you find me?' His brain begins to pick up working again, which is nice. Useful.

'Might have used some contact of mine who weren't aware I'm Ben-Hassrath,' Bull murmurs. 'They lead us here. Can you stand?'

'If you let me up,' Cullen responds, with a smile.

Bull frowns, then looks around the confined space of the cart of which he takes up most of. 'Ah, I see what you mean. Always knew you were a clever one.'

Cullen huffs in amusement, but his next words turn serious, 'If I were clever, I would have realised I had been drugged sooner.'

'Don't,' Bull growls. 'There are fast-acting drugs, which leave you no time to react. Could also have been poison, Kadan.' At the last word, his voice grows tender and a kiss is pressed on the crown of his head, quick and soft.

Nonetheless, Cullen's heart warms. He is still aching, his head throbbing, but he is safe and secure with Bull. At some point, he needs to find out what Kadan means though. He smiles up at Bull though.

Krem's voice cuts through the air then, 'Hey, boss, we need to get back to Skyhold. You might want to stop making out with the Commander.'

Cullen buries his head in his hands, cheeks red, while Bull shouts back, 'Jealousy doesn't become you, Krem.'

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, kudos and constructive criticism appreciated :) Thank you for reading!


End file.
